


The Changeling

by sg_wonderland



Series: Slashlines [5]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 13:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10163828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sg_wonderland/pseuds/sg_wonderland
Summary: “Look, I know a resident psychologist here…he’s good, you’ll like him.”





	

“Dr. Jackson.”

“Chief O’Neill, to what do I owe this pleasure?” His expressive hands nervously move stuff around on his desk.

It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling knowing I have him off-kilter. “Just checking on my man. T. Just wanted to know how he’s doing.” I glance around the office that doesn’t look much like I’d pictured a shrink’s office looking. 

For one thing, he doesn’t have all his degrees framed and hung on the wall. I happen to know he has at least three of them but he’s not pretentious enough to display them. Either that or he thinks he seems less threatening that way. Actually, he isn’t threatening at all and that’s probably why he’s the number one shrink here at the hospital.

“Chief, you know I cannot speak specifically about Teal’c’s case.” There he goes again. That quiet voice, those big, innocent, trust-me eyes.

“Come on, Doc, at least throw me a bone here. I recommended you, for cryin’ out loud.”

“And I appreciate that,” his eyes waver a bit. “I suppose.”

“That’s because I trust you.” I smile warmly at his narrowed eyes.

“More than you trust the rest of the ‘psycho-quacks’ here on staff?” His expression is anything but sweet.

I feel the heat rise in my face. “Okay, you weren’t supposed to hear about that.”

“It’s a hospital, Chief, we live for gossip.”

“I thought you were here for the patients?” I query, trying to distract him.

He smiles quirkily. “Nah, I do the patients for free. I charge seventy-five an hour for the gossip.”

*

I’m in the shower very late that night, washing off the smell of burnt warehouse, when the shower door opens suddenly. “What?” I turn, squinting through the shampoo in my eyes.

“Don’t worry, baby,” a voice croons. “It’s just one of those ‘psycho-quacks’ come to make a house call.” The door closes with a snick.

“Oh, well, if that’s all. Pass me the soap, will ya?”

He chuckles as he hands me the bottle. “Aren’t you in the least sorry that you disparaged my life’s work?”

I turn him around and start scrubbing his back, letting my hand massage his always tense shoulders. “Hey, I had to make it look good. Didn’t want anyone to think I liked you or anything.”


End file.
